


Contented, Known, Before

by ukulelemonkey



Series: An azure depth, a wordless tune [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Bondage, Choking, Consentacles, Domestic Fluff, Other, Suspension, Tentacles, Valentacles 2019, fade-to-black kink negotiation, sappy domestic tentacle porn, so i decided to turn up that particular dial and break the knob off, someone called a previous installment of this series 'gleefully filthy', you read those tags right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukulelemonkey/pseuds/ukulelemonkey
Summary: There is no homecoming quite like this.





	Contented, Known, Before

When Juno opens the door to his apartment, he knows something is wrong. A humid breeze lifts the edges of past-due bills on his coffee table and brings the smell of sand and smog in through the open window.

He didn’t leave the window open.

Juno lets the door close behind him and reaches slowly for his blaster. Depth perception be damned--and it is--if there’s someone in his apartment, they’ll be close enough and hopefully skittish enough that the threat holds water.

His footsteps are light as he moves to the middle of his living room. Keeping the entrance to the hallway in his line of sight, he opens his mouth to grunt a warning--

“Hello, Juno.”

Juno jumps so abruptly he nearly loses his coat. The blaster drops to his side and his eye raises up, directly above, to reveal Peter Nureyev.

Nureyev, sitting pretty in the middle of an obsidian web of his own tentacles like a smug spider, braced between the wall and an exposed pipe that runs along the side of the living room ceiling, grins down with all his sharp teeth.

“I told you to stop _doing_ that,” Juno yelps. “Get the hell down from there.”

“I missed you too,” Nureyev hums fondly.

One tentacle, then another, peels away from the careful tension holding his body in place and drapes toward the floor. Nureyev follows, buoyed up by their strength but graceful and elegant like he’s floating, descending from the sky as weightless as sunlight.

Once his feet meet the floor, a tentacle reaches out and wraps itself loosely around Juno’s wrist. He glady follows the gentle tug into Nureyev’s arms.

“Well?” Juno teases. Nureyev’s chest is pressed against his; he’s close enough to see the tiny, bioluminescent veins in the man’s irises. “Gonna welcome me home?”

“I could be persuaded.” Nureyev leans in and gifts Juno with a long, sweet kiss. It deepens quickly, Juno’s fingers in Nureyev’s hair and Nureyev’s tentacles tight and strong and sure around him. The promise of their easy strength replays on a loop in Juno’s mind.

Juno pulls away, half-breathless, and asks, “Are you, like, hungry or anything?”

“I ate on the flight. Did you have dinner plans?”

“Nope. I was just curious, “Juno says bluntly, “how soon I could get you to fuck me.”

Nureyev’s smile is pure delight. Every time he turns that look on Juno, it seems like his teeth get a little bit sharper. The limbs around him tighten; Juno’s stomach swoops in anticipation.

“At a guess,” he says, “approximately as long as it takes us to get to your bedroom.”

Juno pulls away, sees a flash of confusion on the man’s face, and is already turning when he says, “Race you.”

Nureyev’s laugh climbs up Juno’s spine with a palpable warmth--unless that feeling is the tentacle wrapping around him from behind, pulling Juno an inch off the ground so his feet cycle in the air.

A long, lean shape streaks past Juno too fast to focus on and leans alluringly in the doorframe to the bedroom.

“I win.”

“Not fair,” Juno huffs as Nureyev sets him back down.

“Isn’t there an old saying about that? All’s fair in love--”

“And tentacles?” Juno rolls his eye and pulls his shirt over his head. “Take your goddamn pants off, Nureyev.”

Nureyev chuckles. His eyes faintly flash in the dim light of the doorway as he steps back into the room. His tentacles slip past the frame after he does, trailing against the wall like a beckoning _come along,_ like a promise.

It’s a promise Juno intends to see through. He follows Nureyev in, and the door closes behind him.

 

*

 

“Oh, _Juno,”_ Nureyev breathes. The lady is a sight like this, as ever: sitting back on his heels, strong fingers splayed out against the synthwood floor, naked and ready and prepared and all _his._

Juno’s eye gleams in his face. He gasps so sweetly as a tentacle wraps around his torso. Another cradles his hips. A third, looped once around his thighs, trails itself over the firm curve of his ass. His skin is so warm and as unique as any night sky Nureyev has ever seen. The sensitive nerves in his tentacles can feel each crevice and scar, each place Juno has ever experienced an unforgivable lapse in care, scattered over him like afterimage comet tails.

“Well?” Juno asks, writhing against the tension of Nureyev’s tentacles just to see what he can get away with. Nureyev gives him no quarter, just as he wants--Juno whimpers.

“I know, love.” Nureyev slips the tentacle teasing Juno’s ass between the cheeks, barely inside and then deeper all at once.

Juno grunts, gratitude, and Nureyev shudders. His eye hovers nearly-closed; he tenses around the tentacle inside him. It would be a mythic exercise in restraint not to slip another into him, so Nureyev gives up entirely.

Juno falls forward onto his hands fully as the two tentacles rock inside him. Nureyev feels the warm tightness of Juno’s body, the give of him, and the sensitive skin of his own limbs running along one another. He twins them together and twists them deeper into Juno, who cries out.

His forehead falls against Nureyev’s thigh. Nureyev reaches down--trembling hand, this is always a gift he cannot quite believe is his to take--and smooths a palm over Juno’s hair.

“Please,” Juno moans, so close the wetness of his breath caresses Nureyev’s cock. They’ve barely started, and already it is near too much. Nureyev burns with wanting; as always, as ever, he gives Juno what he asks for.

The tentacles around Juno’s hips flex and pull. Even Nureyev is not sure of the limits of their strength; he tries not to rely upon it, dangerous as it is to let them out at all, but regardless bearing his own body up with them has never posed a challenge. Likewise, Juno is easy enough.

When Juno’s knees raise off the ground, he chokes on his own breath. His hands follow, coming up abruptly to clutch at Nureyev’s hips and pull him closer to take his cock into his mouth.

It is Nureyev’s turn to gasp. An involuntary shudder runs through his body, rippling outward into his extraneous limbs to squeeze Juno and pulse inside him. The sound he makes around Nureyev’s cock at the feeling only heightens the sensation, a feedback loop of pushing and tightening and delicate skin over delicate skin.

He props Juno’s chin up with the broad side of a tentacle to give his poor neck a break. Nureyev feels Juno’s adam’s apple bob against his skin this way, the minute twitching in his throat as Juno swallows around him.

“Careful,” Nureyev hisses a warning before he starts to rock Juno back and forth. Juno’s mobility like this is nonexistent, so Nureyev pulls his body away and pulls him back again, fucking himself with Juno’s face more than he thrusts into his throat.

Juno’s feet kick every time he’s pulled onto Nureyev’s cock; he drips pre-cum over the tentacles near his own, minute dribblings that tickle more than they titillate. His hands flex on Nureyev’s hips.

Nureyev gets close--too close; he cares more about the vision Juno makes and the plans he has for him than he does rushing to finish. As such, he hooks a tentacle under Juno’s collarbone and pulls him off, manhandles him until he sits nearly upright.

Still harnessed, held, and filled by Nureyev’s tentacles, he gulps down air between moans. The saliva on his lips gleams bright as the shiny limbs around him.

“Do you still want--?”

“All of it,” Juno gasps, bratty and demanding even while Nureyev has him suspended like this. “You want me to beg or something? I can take it.”

Nureyev feels a smile stretch his face wider than he ever lets himself in public, wide enough to show where his canines ought to give way to molars and don’t. Juno enjoys the sight. Nureyev knows this, and even if he didn’t already, the way Juno’s cock twitches against the tentacle wrapped over his hips would be a bit of a giveaway.

Another tentacle, inside, braided through the other two. Juno arches his back, takes it slowly but works through the stretch like a champion. He loves this, too: when it’s nearly too much. When he feels the edge of danger, the looming horizon of impossibility that Nureyev will carry him over safely until the day the stars wink out.

“C’mon, is that all you-- _ah, shit--_ got?” Juno huffs and pants and cries out at the intrusion of another tentacle. This one wraps around his leg from ankle to thigh and slithers along his perineum before meeting the stretched, lube-wet entrance of him. “Fuck, I know you can do more, I know you want to. You know what I asked for, Peter, so just--”

Juno’s voice ends in a quiet choking sound when Nureyev wraps a tentacle around his throat. His mouth hangs open, wide and wet and pleading. No sound escapes, no breath as Nureyev squeezes in at the sides of his neck.

“Satisfied?” Nureyev hums. Juno bucks in his grip like he’s trying to grind back against the tentacles pushing even deeper inside him and forward into the constriction around his throat at the same time.

He releases the pressure for a moment; as Juno takes long, greedy gulps of air, Nureyev unwinds the tentacles buried in Juno. The twisting sensation sends his eye rolling back in his head. The feeling of moving within him warms Nureyev to his toes.

Juno won’t notice, he thinks, if Nureyev gives himself his own little reward for all their hard work here today. One thin tentacle traces up his own thigh and slips into him, curling tight and seeking out his prostate.

He squeezes Juno’s throat closed again. His face goes flushed and his eyes are wet and puffy. His mouth is wide and silent and blissful.

The tentacles holding him still and aloft are a latticework pattern of shiny black over his sweat-shined brown skin. Juno will have marks on him from this: indentations from the pressure that will fade within hours. Nureyev hopes not to bruise him. They didn’t discuss that this time, after all; the choking was a long enough negotiation on its own.

“There you go,” Nureyev whispers, releasing his hold on Juno’s neck.

“Fuck,” Juno swears hoarsely. His head lolls back like he can’t support its weight anymore. His thighs start to tremble.

Nureyev shivers around the tentacle inside himself, nearly bowled over by the sight of Juno this way. He is a fond fan of wearing the lady out until he can barely move, of course. That seems well within the realm of possibility for the night. Yet, Nureyev’s own role in this instance is rather more physically taxing than many of their nights together. He has a few more beats to hit, and he is hard enough that it will be very hard to ignore quite soon; it’s time to move on.

Juno, for his part, seems to be recovering. He lifts his head in time to watch Nureyev step closer, to prepare himself for what’s coming next.

Nureyev cups Juno’s cheeks in his hands, gently, as another pair of tentacles wraps around the lady’s thighs and waist.

In a movement both eager and carefully controlled, Nureyev hoists Juno up and throws him against the wall, pinning him there with his tentacles and his body. The moment Juno’s back hits the wall, he cries out a string of pleas that do not quite resolve themselves into speech.

“I can hardly understand you, dearest,” Nureyev _tsks,_ leering into Juno’s space with a wide smile. He braces his body to the side, one forearm against the wall, to get a better view of Juno’s writhing body. His nipples are peaked and his cock bobs desperately. “You’ll have to repeat yourself.”

“I want--” Juno whines when the tip of a tentacle quirks his nipple. “I want your teeth. Bite me, rip my fucking throat out. _Please.”_

“Ah,” Nureyev says on a soft breath. He leans in and breathes over Juno’s neck, which must still be tender from their earlier activities. As previously considered, he won’t do anything they haven’t discussed; he won’t break skin, for example.

Teasing the sharp tips of his teeth over Juno’s sensitized skin, this is a different story.

Nureyev traces the veins in Juno’s throat with the needle points of his eyeteeth. He pulls back a hair’s breadth, then snaps his jaw shut with an audible _click._ Juno swallows and shivers.

He sets his tentacles under Juno’s thighs and pushes him up the wall, trailing his mouth lower down Juno’s body as he rises. Nureyev tweaks a nipple with his tongue, scrapes teeth over Juno’s chest and stomach, and finally meets Juno’s inner thigh with his mouth.

The skin there is tender still; Nureyev’s mouth passes over his own tentacles in search of a patch of skin to kiss. Juno groans above him, so Nureyev sends a pair of tendrils up to his mouth and slips them between his lips without looking, focused as he is on lavishing the area around his cock with warm attention.

The tentacles in Juno’s mouth push into his throat, primed as it is from taking Nureyev’s cock just before. Nureyev leans away to look up at the goddess hanging over him, pressed to the wall and gladly, gratefully filled.

Nureyev breathes in awe; he sets to work.

The four tentacles in Juno’s ass pump deeper, harder, bouncing him against the wall. Above, he makes wet, muffled sounds around the tentacles twining with his tongue. He sounds exhausted and desperate; Nureyev keeps an eye on Juno’s right hand, watching for the two-fingered signal that means he needs to stop. Both his hands clutch desperately at every slick, onyx limb wrapped around him, free and easy movement, with no sign of wanting Nureyev to slow.

Juno kicks out weakly at a particularly hard thrust. His calf comes to rest hooked over Nureyev’s shoulder. He turns, kisses Juno’s knee, and wraps a tentacle so tight around Juno’s cock that he screams.

The sound of it, the feeling of his mouth stretching on a cry while stuffed with Nureyev’s tentacles, the entire shuddering mess Juno makes while pinned to the wall like the work of art he is--all of it turns Nureyev around so thoroughly his head spins with it.

He feels like his legs might give out at any moment. The tentacle he put inside himself, involuntarily, presses deeper. He fucks himself as he fucks Juno, somehow still upright and sharply focused on the agonized ecstasy unfolding overhead.

Nureyev only touches himself when Juno starts to break. He wouldn’t miss the look on his face for the world, the way his body bends with pleasure as if trying to break free not only of the tentacles but the skin and sinew holding it together. Juno comes, screaming himself hoarse--hoarser than he already was--and Nureyev barely holds himself together long enough to lower him safely to the bed.

Once Juno is down on the mattress, splayed out and looking utterly fucked out of his mind, Nureyev lets go. He is wracked with it, emptied out, and within moments has joined Juno in lying boneless, unmade in his unmade bed.

“Changed my mind,” Juno mumbles, turning onto his side to bury his face in Nureyev’s shoulder.

“About what?” Nureyev asks. He silently begins to reflect and catalog everything he did this evening, everything he might remember for the future as an unexpected _hard no--_

“Hungry,” he groans. “Soon as I can move, I’m ordering noodles. You want anything?”

Nureyev laughs. He rolls, too, to face Juno and lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. Juno looks up with an eye full of fondness. That look morphs slightly into an amused quirk.

“What is it?” Nureyev giggles, tired and more than sated and gleeful. Happy to be back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You got, uh,” Juno gestures up to his hair. Nureyev reaches toward the area of Juno’s aim, touches his own hair with confusion, and finds his fingers coming away sticky.

“You came in my hair.” Nureyev drops his hand to the mattress. He fixes Juno with the most withering stare he can manage, tired as he is.

“Well, hey,” Juno makes the ridiculous face he makes when he’s trying to restrain laughter at his own terrible joke, “if you’re in the market for a new conditioner, that’s gotta be a hell of a lot cheaper than whatever you’re using--”

Nureyev rolls away with a groan. He reaches for the nearest pillow he can find and flings it in the general direction of Juno’s quiet laughter. The soft _thud_ only encourages him, it seems, and Nureyev finds himself laughing too.

“That’s it,” Nureyev sighs dramatically. “I’m catching the next flight to Pluto, I can’t stand to be here anymore.”

Juno’s strong arms wrap around his chest from behind. He stubbornly tucks his face back into the dip of Nureyev’s neck, still snorting near-silent giggles.

“You sure? Those noodles are still up for grabs.”

“Well,” Nureyev says as though pondering deeply, “I suppose I could be persuaded to stay that long.”

“Mhm,” Juno hums against his skin. Then, after a silent moment of breathing together, “I’m, uh. I’m glad you’re back, Peter.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the fade-to-black before negotiation! I know that is a few people's cup of tea, but I was worried about making the Valentacles deadline. Happy tentacle-ing, everybody ;)


End file.
